The Armor Doubts
by blood of the ninja
Summary: When's the first time you doubted what you were doing? This is from the perspective of the Warlords. Hope you enjoy.


The Armor Doubts

A/N: I debated how to split this up, but I think I'm going to stick with this.

Anubis – before they find Stata

Black clouds covered the sky, shading their eyes from the bright sun of an hour before. It had been one of Anubis's better ideas to send one of the Dynasty soldiers first; this way they could assess the city around them. Had the world really changed so much during their time away? They had seen glimpses of the ever changing mortal realm. Buildings that soared into the heavens as engines replaced carts and horses and trains billowed smoke in their wake to bullet trains that ran on electricity. When the soldier had failed to destroy the Ronin Warriors, and the burden had fallen to the Warlords, they had perhaps been to eager to proceed to battle and had not taken enough time to see how values had changed with changing landscape. That now even boys could stand up and defend a world they cherished.

After his humiliating defeat at the volcano, Anubis was the first to sneak away to examine the world more closely. A surprisingly simple feat. He had only to see himself there, close his eyes and make it so. Master Talpa didn't know, or care to know where he was going. If Anubis couldn't beat the Ronins with strength alone, then perhaps understanding more of their era would help.

The darkened streets echoed his every footstep, the heavy tread of armored feet filled the space between buildings. He felt tense in this world without his armor, as though it could protect him from the passage of years, or the realization that where once he fit, was no longer so. Time moved ever on without him.

"What does this world value?" he spoke to himself, gaze scanning the signs around him. It seemed everything was for sale in this place. Or had been. He leaned closer to the shop window nearest. Planks of wood with small wheels, all painted in bright colors. The child had one. They were called skateboards apparently. The next window held jewels, small watches, all the things that glittered. Money, this world valued money, to be sure, but what good did that do him? His world had valued money as well, and rank and power.

He could feel his jaw tighten and teeth begin to grind. What did the Ronins value? He was close, at the edge of an understanding, yet not near enough to jump. His fit punched through the thick glass as though it were paper and again through the next and next until the block's first floor was windowless, each like gaping eyeless sockets. What was missing?!

That image, of a person without eyes with which to express dismay or joy, sparked a thought and then certainty. The Ronins valued human life. Their friends, or strangers, a child's life or an adult. Their value was the thousands of human cattle the Dynasty was keeping to feed their empire. But the humans couldn't just be freed. Talpa needed them, they gave him strength. And it wouldn't stop the Ronins either, now that the Dynasty was intent on taking the world the Warriors valued away.

Without humans in the city, they couldn't be used as shields either. There had to be another way to beat his enemy. Wildfire wasn't going to let him anywhere near the woman or child, not after he tried to kill them at the volcano. Yet the need for vengeance sat heavy in his soul. Only Rowan of the Strata remained, separated from his comrades and vulnerable, but lost to the Dynasty as much as to the Ronins.

Unless… Anubis looked up into the darkened sky. Wildfire in the Volcano, Halo in the darkness, Hardrock in the Throne of the Gods, Torrent in a literal torrent. All places of their power. It was late in coming, but if Strata was in the sky, then Master Talpa must know how to get to him and give Anubis the chance to strike back at those he hated and secretly wished to understand.

Dais – After they learn Anubis is the monk

Loath as Dais was to admit it, this betrayal hurt. Dais had been the first to enter into service to the Dynasty, Anubis, the last, and yet he had become their leader of sorts. And now the other Warlords were adrift without him. Yes, they still made half-hearted bids for Master Talpa's favor, but they lacked the vigor of days past.

Dais scanned the horizon studded with skyscrapers. Anubis was in the city; Dais could feel it, with that woman and child no less. But his presense felt strange. Before, his had a hulking feel, large shouldered and a bit of swagger. Now, it was the strength that comes from surety rather than blind ambition. He did nothing to hide it either, or mask his intentions, Anubis was going into the dark realm to help the Ronins. The knowledge that they would face each other as former comrades rankled. He was helping the mortal realm, after casting away their master. It was too much!

There! Anubis walked purposefully, followed closely the woman and child. Rings on the staff clinked against each other gently with each step. From experience, he knew they would grow into a cacophony when it sensed his presence, just as it did now. He liked his perch, high atop a rail signal. High ground meant little in the world of armors, but instinctively, he sought them.

"Come out. I know you're there," Anubis commanded and Dais obliged, a hollow laughter echoing in the emptiness. They spoke of right and honor, the values they had once lived by in a tainted world. When he could take no more, Dais attacked. Each weapon, he possessed, useless against the staff of the Ancients and confidence of Anubis. In moments, he lay beaten, humiliated by one he would have called friend, if life had taken a different path.

"Well, go ahead and finish me," Dais spat, eye narrowed and challenging the other to action.

"No, Dais."

"I don't need pity from the likes of you," he could have screamed. Now doubt was there, more solidly embedded than ever before. What if Anubis was right? That Talpa only wanted the armor, and the raw emotion it contained. When the small group of would be heros were gone, only then did he pick himself up. His hair swayed in the breeze. How had things gone so badly? He and the other Dark Warlords had been Talpa's finest, his most trusted. Now Lady Kayura had supplanted them, in less than a week! Hundreds of years of loyalty, the number of lives they had slaughtered in the name of their emperor, all for nothing. It couldn't be true!

Like a child, he snatched his helmet from the ground. After he dusted the bottom edge carefully, thrust it onto his head. Perhaps, if he started at the beginning, his answers would be there.

The gentle flicker of candles against a wooden wall was the first thing he became aware of, followed by the earthy smell of melted wax. The shrine where he had first faced the Ronins, not his intended location, but where instinct took him. If he was honest, this is where he began to doubt.

The hole through the roof still remained from their battel as clouds scudded past. The debris was cleaned, but not the evidence that evil existed in this world. Fewer candles were lit, many hadn't been replaced once burned to stumps. What had drawn him here? Was it the way the Ronins had disregarded their own safety for a child? The world's fate rested of their shoulders, but they allowed themselves to be beaten mercilessly for a child. Would he have done the same? Only for Master Talpa. Seeing it again, from the distance of time, even then he wondered if the Warlords were right. Yes, the battles were enjoyable, the highlight of a thousand years, but did he think Master Talpa right? Not truly, not in his heart. Kayura believed, had been made to believe in his rightness.

And that's why they had been replaced so easily. They doubted where she did not. And Talpa knew that. He could see the emotions contained in the bearers of the armor. The small flickers of suppressed desires, that once there, couldn't be removed. The hope for freedom, and power.

It hardly matter now what he and the others wanted. The end was coming. Victory or defeat, it would all be over soon. If he survived, what kind of life would he build?

Sekhmet – After the capture

There was something soothing about the sight of three Ronin warriors, helpless and at the Dynasty's mercy. It positively made his blood sing. Finally, victory was within their grasp. They had only to be patient and allow Kayura to bring the final Ronins in.

The thought almost ruined the mood he was in. Kayura, not to be trusted; too clever by half, and her ancestry! Yet the Master had put this important task in her hands. A scowl skirted his features. Jealousy would change little except, perhaps, to infuriate Talpa. Control and contain, he had taught himself that much during his time in the Dynasty. Emotions were best channeled through activity or study. Things that would help, rather than hinder, progress.

With a last glimpse at the prisoners, Sekhmet turned away, melding with the darkness. The anger lingered, carrying his steps away from his familiar haunts toward the mortal realm. Passing into another world always felt like shedding skin, raw but fresh: a pleasant pain.

At first glance, he didn't recognize the destination. Not until he saw the rotted trees, the decay and desolation of the abandoned building half collapsed, a corner melt and empty; the first place he had faced Wildfire. He wouldn't call it a defeat in a strict sense, but it was the beginning of a new time. Unshaken faith in the Warlords had been dismantled, humiliation had followed, groveling for the power of the Nether Spirits. Power, like a drug, they all chased it. Still did, but it was never enough to beat the whelps that inherited the Armors.

It started here, his first taste that venom wasn't enough. That he needed more to beat the Ronins, but it was a 'more' he didn't possess. Anubis did. He had escaped to claim a destiny greater than them all. And Sekhmet was jealous of that fact.

He shook his head free of the self-defeating thoughts. He was the Warlord of Venom. He had bested thousands in his time with only one touch of his poison. How did Cale do it? Remain so sure of a Master he, Sekhmet, secretly questioned? But they had brought three of the five Ronins. The Dynasty would triumph and then all doubts would be erased. Humanity would fall, Master Talpa would allow his generals to bask in the glory. The power he had always sought would be his. Venom would flow through the rivers, decay would choke the earth, and revenge would be sweet. All he had to do was keep faith just a while longer.

Cale – The End

Pain ripped through him. How could his Master allow this? Had they not been loyal and obedient subjects? Had they not bowed to his every order? Now, he was commanding their death to complete his vengeance. The promises made, forgotten and unfulfilled. He, Cale, had always obeyed and now his body was in agony as he floated up toward the funeral barge and his own tower where only death waited.

Only now did he doubt, now when it was too late. Surely, the others were feeling the same, a most base betrayal. Loyalty cheated and spat upon, that he could not forgive. A cruel anger boiled inside as he took his seat like the others inside their own towers of death. If he could only move! One twitch, he would bite back, tear at the hand that feed him naught but hatred for a thousand years. His mind howled with restrained rage.

There, in the distance, a sonic boom and he was released! All of his anger and hatred concentrated into his attack. Pieces of tower flew everywhere as he stood in the center. Nothing stood before his purifying rage as he fought his way toward the others. Without a master, he was free to feel everything: love for the comrades he had fought beside for years, sorrow at the loss of Anubis, joy that Lady Kayura was free from control, expectation for a future that was unknowable. Things would be different! He would have the right to doubt the course of events, to question and fully understand before accepting a master and offers of power.

All of this fueled him, drove him into a state of near madness before the dust settled and he found himself with the only two that fully felt the same pain deep inside. Anubis, their leader, dead. He lay as though asleep. Gently, Dais cradled the body, wiped a bit of water from the cold brow and lowered his head as a slow keening rose to a roar. Cale threw his head back, joining his sorrow with the other Warlord, and Sekhmet made it a chorus.

He would have screamed his pain forever if Kayura had not approached. Her presence in the past had been a thorn: sharp, but too deep to pry loose. Now, she was silk against a raw mind; a healing touch that had not existed before.

"It's over," she whispered, "They did it."

"Then we are Ronin now too," Dais finally looked up, his voice heavy. "Though I can't say I'm sad about it."

"You need not be masterless," she shifted uneasily. "I would be your mistress, if you're willing."

"You?" Sekhmet balked, then stilled. "My apologies, my lady. Old habits."

"It seems very quick to be replacing Talpa already," Cale studied her warily. "Perhaps we should start with a trial period."

"If that is what you want, then I gladly accept," she paused, swallowed and finished, "my friends."

"Before we get too far into the logistics, I must insist that we give Anubis the proper rites. He died for us this day. We must always remember," Dais rose, Anubis cradled in his arms.

"Always," Cale said, repeated by the others. Doubt had its traps, but so did blind obedience. A comrade had died to show them their error, and they would never forgot.


End file.
